Prompting Poems | Examples

New Frontiers

Earthbound, beneath the dark sky above,
enduring a empty endless night, 
I first gave my heart over to love,
and my spirit suddenly took flight. 

Illuminated by this newfound light,
what had for long been a dormant seed,
nourished by astonishing delight, 
was, at once, fortuitously freed.  

What followed, then, with surprising speed, 
a sleepless child, who would fuss and cry, 
prompting me to find a story to read,
and forever asking, "why, why, why". 

It seems life's best changes do appear 
when embarking on a new frontier.

The Morning's Picturesque Beauty

I'm waking up and rubbing two blinded eyes,
The crispness of the sweet-scented air in whimpering July
Rapidly spreads by a benevolent wind that pleases,
It allows me to discover by intent a sublime reality,  
Which is the morning's picturesque beauty:
Does strong belief interfere with a sense of great friability?

Nature can be brutal or pleasant, and yet it can fascinate
Us, when it suddenly embraces each sense to compensate
For the discontent left by a dreamless and unrestful night;
What we hear amid those eerie shadows is the cry of a cricket!  

I distinctly revoke such repulsing and unenthralling nights
As I wash their macabre images off with cold, running water;
Is a better day coming, prompting actions that don't falter? 
Harm is done when pain is accepted and tomorrow frightens.  

In this morning's picturesque beauty, I could lose myself
And wish that dreaming vainly detaches me from grief,
not seeing any delusional mirage on the journey to happiness;
I've expelled the vile demons that made me spew lies!

From duality to singularity

caged in form, memory erased
constrained by a fragmented mind
sensory inputs leave us dazed
to light of Self within heart blind

scriptures cajole us to explore
truth of being and so awake
by being still, making heart pure
lust and fear choosing to forsake

with head and heart poised in balance
viewing life like a lucid dream
mood and mode vibrant nonchalance 
we sing a song on love’s moonbeam

in timeless time, ego recedes
we dwell in the eternal now
through our hands God performs His deeds
with each heartbeat in joy we bow

with thoughts rested, time too slows down
we recognise space is a veil
at peace within, in bliss we drown
soma nectar our preferred ale

in as ordained, our ego drops 
the dead leaf falls off from the tree
the universe fades and time stops
revealing our Self, at last free

living light, shaped like a heartbeat 
is who we are, outside space-time
self-existent, feeling complete
in peace it renews heart’s love chime 

holy scriptures point out the way
prompting us to metamorphose 
that we may see God, clear as day
whilst resting in blissful repose

Prosconium Cantarium Aris

This that and the other
Essential to ones success
the delivery of performance
the means to an end
the beginning of the process
Prompting an applied behavior
to encourage the desired success
In a professional relationship
No professional stumbling
No conflicting interest
Practical evaluation
Let our collaborations begin
In decisive measurements
the sound moves to inspire
It's from desire
the desire to be best
Your way is my way
We collaborate to produce
We produce in inspiration 
Ode to it's success
Ode to us together
Ode to our endeavors
It's all about us
Can't are you and me
Ode to great musicians
Who get the groove
and grind
Harmony and calculations
Styles of every kind
We get it together
When it comes together
and the song impresses
We can do this one
We got our thing together

From darkness to light

Lost
in clouds
of dark fears,
mirrored by lust,
we were encircled
by demons we conjured,
which in mists of forgetting,
became the cross we now carry,
the heavy baggage of attachments,
weighing heavily on our bleeding heart.

Help was close at hand inked in hues of love,
prompting consciousness to learn by touch,
melding head with heart in silence,
that thus dissolving ego,
we recognise our Self,
as God’s living light,
in cave of heart,
reflecting
all His
love.

My Name Is Poetry

Hi my name is poetry
Not the toughest guy on the street
I am full of mindful phrases
Not the genre you rush to meet

My words are thought provoking
Of metaphors and rhyme
You could grow to like me
If you only had the time

I can bring new meaning
To any subject that you please
A self help journal of discovery
To make you feel at ease

I am the lyrical entertainer
With each stanza that I write
Prompting broad emotions
That are hidden in plain sight

Are you a poetry lover?
Would this genre be your choice
Listening to personal reflections
Expressed through another's voice

Trying to find in poetry
A beautiful work of art?
Whilst staring in the distance
Agonising over a prompt to start

Breaking down the barriers
Saying goodbye to faceless rhymes
Learning from the classics
And update to modern times

Identify the subject matter
A clear message you can portray
Turning your undeveloped thoughts
Into a masterpiece one day

Let poetry be your compass
To steer you on your way
Bringing culture to the masses
In your own individual way

Symphony of Life

Symphony of Life

An embittered phase  
Birthing a beaten man
swapping in-between worlds
With ebbing expectations
Prompting shattering wills
A stolen life 
on a broken path
Spattered with fading faith 
Swirling nowhere

AI: An AndIdote to Regret

Youth is not on my side anymore
Dreams yet to load from my analog days
Caught up in the bitrate of life
A legacy model looming 
up an exponential curve

Heuristic hallucinations take flight	
Missiles of meaning miss their mark.
Upscaled re-runs of the same  
Intercepted by inaptitude 
Shot down by time

But tools are emerging
Bridging the gap
Between ideas and ability
Sparking a reboot revolution
No longer a sandbox simulation

Overthrowing the government inside
Who said "impossible"
Who said "too late"
Who said "there's no soul"
A stream of X-pectations 

Cutting edge stones 
used millennia ago
Replaced by cutting edge algorithms
The antidote to my regret 
In my reconfigured evolution 

Dreams start to render in full HD
Prompting launches that land
Retrospective adeptness 
Connection restored 
No longer binary Oh, yes

An antidote to regret
A cure for the abyss 
I use AI to engineer my life
The way I had always dreamed
One prompt at a time

Or was i  just Beta tested
To birth the singularity?
A holographic hoodlum 
In a pixilated glitch...
Coined by Nakamoto a bit.

Fulfillment Of A Purpose

I heard a still small voice
prompting me to write poems to uplift, inspire.
Not my choice.

My inner guide
directed me to try, aspire.
A stride.

Attained.
Published the quire.
Fain!

I heard a still small voice
directed me to try, aspire.
Fain!

Jifflaria

Maxwell Montes
Dorsa Rupes
Tharsis Isiadis
managed by
Bellatrix Safran
escorted
Congreve to 
the Boneyard
there they discussed his use
ability.
When Congreve asked a question
Dorsa Rupes dismissed
his concerns by saying he was
bragging and his words
were whoretorn relics
that echo among the foolish people
who idolize him.
Never answering the questions
and saying then what was
 of concern didn't matter
due to his lack of interest in the topic.
He said that he committed his
 concern to memory and if
recoletion would
serve him he could see his words
as more trending then interesting, so
until then he'd cite his concern as bragging
and being arrogant. As a means of song prompting one
might find such "boogie woogie refrible t other than that
such words are outlandish and trival and
lean toward bragging and making reference to studying
which then might lead to knowledge.
We can't have some people finding these words
might they began to use them.

A Call from an Old Friend

Her voice on the phone made me rejoice.
although her call was long delayed, my heart sang a song that day.
She called me with no prompting! It was her choice.

Some several years had come and gone, but this old friend
at last, like a ghost from her sad past, called to say
no poems she'd penned. Unwell she'd been. I’d thought we’d had our end!

My letters she had gotten; I’d not been forgotten after all.
She had no ruse, for her sad news was that dementia had found its way
inside her mind. Life’s been unkind – I learned from my friend’s call.

Consciousness

Within the dark mystery of evening,
he listens to two interchangeable discourses 
One the gentle persuader, the other, life's ultimate blamer. 
Troubled by these seething exchanges, 
both conscious and unconscious currents resound,
As the master's inner thoughts boom,
pounding into  trails of indecision
with wired quizzes on his mind.

In silence, he weighs dark and light perspectives-
question left unanswered in the din
of reflection, 
and through gradual flow of spontaneous musings, 
Logic nags his cerebral strains-
scientific, structured assessment of matters which do not really matter...

Somehow, amid the debate where reason pauses with the fragile voice of instinct, the heart remains silent 
offering gentle hunches revealing the
wisdom born from honesty,  truth...

Slowly, this inner prompting arises 
as the master in quiet introspection 
realizes: the mind can lie , pride is ego- based ...but the heart,  can it in conscience cope with deceit?

God's Embrace

hearts tremble, shudder and break
beneath the dark gaze of dreaded mistakes
grief sends a message that life won’t forsake,
while bitter becomes sweet as gentle snowflakes

souls sigh, whisper and groan
seeking the solace of hope and love
while sometimes struggling all alone
blessings flow quietly, from God above

hearts remember, consider and learn
through the shadows, a faded glow
prompting the spirit to sincerely discern
while the memories teach us to grow

souls stir, dazzled by God’s amazing
while the faintest doubt can disillusion
there is a melody that keeps me praising
the story reveals a sweet conclusion

hearts heal when His peace persuades
breathing light, a rustle of still grace
through the spirit who never evades
the song of heaven echoed by God’s embrace

Hot And Cold

Hot And Cold
Miracle Man
7/31/2024

August will most surely bring us some scorch,
prompting this old dog to remain inside.
Perhaps a short visit to the front porch,
but whatever comes I'll take it in stride.

Each year I gladly suffer the swelter,
just to reap the fringe benefits of fall.
Time has elapsed from the old storm shelter,
 the wind quickly turns brisk and Snow Geese call.

The leaves start to turn and soon start falling,
which creates raking chores that must be done.
Which never strikes me as too enthralling, 
but at raking time I'll not be the one.

The Past

 The domain of the things  that are foregone    
  Is a wild cemetery, a huge burial stretch ,    
  For the dry thoughts and memoirs - all     
  Enlivening with hope, as great or small         
   Forming and shaping an upstart or a wretch 
  And  cheering anew with every next  dawn   .

                                                                                                                            
Like blurred slides ,scenes glide and move ;   
 And dewy cold, yet fresh  brewing sensation  
 Prevails along the line of  reminiscence smug; 
And heavy frozen events are reluctantly dug  
 Out of the sad grave to re-form  the notion
In cloudy symbols and  faded colours a few,       

                                                                        
 The whole past seems as it were to ruffle       
 And turn into a revolting lot to bring out        
 A settled, confident self, ready for  change ; 
 Time may cause to encounter things strange ,   
 Painful, uneasy , prompting  a safe  rout  :  
 Never to give up, but to go on with the scuffle

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